


Dolce far niente (the sweetness of doing nothing)

by tahariel



Series: Backseat 'verse [12]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bondage, Butt Plugs, Dom/sub, Hand Feeding, M/M, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sex Toys, Wrist Cuffs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 20:35:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/422921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tahariel/pseuds/tahariel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles has a love that keeps him waiting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dolce far niente (the sweetness of doing nothing)

“Do you have anything you have to do tomorrow?” Erik asks Charles on Friday evening, when they’re sacked out on the couch, Charles draped over Erik’s chest with his own book as Erik watches an old movie with the sound turned down, Erik’s hand in his hair, stroking through it gently and enjoying the soft sensation of the strands riffling between his fingers.

“No?” Charles puts his book down obediently when Erik speaks, tilting his head so he can see Erik’s face, moving his hands vaguely towards his lap - it’s harder to do lying down, but he makes a good effort, one Erik will reward him for later. “No, nothing.”

“Good,” Erik says, blocks Charles’ absent-minded attempt to probe him for more information - not that he could stop Charles if he was determined, but the resistance is enough to make him leave it alone. “Then tomorrow is a playday.”

 

 

~*~

 

 

Charles wakes up when Erik is halfway through buckling the cuffs around his wrists behind his back, but after an initial reflexive jerk against the hold he relaxes entirely, sinking back onto his belly on the mattress, limp and obedient. They’re the chunky leather ones in dark green, with the sheepskin lining for comfort, and that should be enough to tell Charles he’ll be wearing them for a while.

“Today I want you to be patient,” Erik says into his ear once he’s tested the buckles to make sure they’ll stay, running a finger under the edge of the leather to make sure they’re not so tight that they’ll affect his sub’s circulation. “Can you be patient for me, Charles?”

“Yes, Erik,” and Charles sounds drowsy with it, the way he almost always is when restrained - where Erik would fight and rage and strain against bondage Charles tends to let go, submitting utterly as soon as control is taken out of his hands. He rubs his cheek against the fabric of the pillow, morning stubble scraping against it with a quiet shushing noise. Where his hands are tied in the small of his back his fingers curl and uncurl, and he pulls against the bonds once, twice, before sighing, content.

Against the pale linen Charles’ bare skin is smooth and tempting, and Erik kneels above him, looking down at his captive with satisfaction, straddling Charles’ thighs. The sheet is draped over his hips, loose and only vaguely showing the shape of him under it; Erik draws it back to rest just under the curve of Charles’ bare ass, strokes his palm over one round cheek, pushes it up and lets go to watch it bounce back, strokes his thumb along the delicious crease underneath where it meets Charles’ thigh. If he had to choose a favourite part of Charles’ body, it might be there. Beneath him Charles murmurs wordlessly and pushes back against his hand, then forward against the mattress, and that won’t do, not yet.

“Come on, breakfast,” Erik says, climbing up and off the bed, and ignores Charles’ little disgruntled noise. His submissive is well-used to sleeping in the cuffs from time to time so it’s almost second nature for him to push up from lying flat on his front to kneeling without using his hands, the sheet falling away from his legs so he can swing them one after the other down to the floor. His toes flex against the carpet, and Erik reaches for him then to take his elbow and nudge Charles to stand, bending to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. When Charles tries to turn his face for a proper kiss Erik twists away, denying him, and pinches his arm when Charles makes another unhappy noise, louder this time.

“Patience, remember?”

Charles goes to the bathroom while Erik goes out into the living room, leaving him to take a piss - however he needs to do that with his hands tied - and freshen up as best he can. Erik did leave a wet cloth out for him to wipe his face with or against. The living room is flooded with morning sunlight, warm and warming up as the day gets started, and Erik crosses to the balcony doors to fling them open to the air and let it in. There’s a fine breeze that wafts in once the doors are open, and he turns in time to see Charles shiver as he comes out of the bedroom, still naked but for the cuffs. Erik himself is wearing his sleep pants, loose and comfortable - he enjoys being dressed while Charles is bare, having that implied power over him. “Are you cold?” he asks anyway, and Charles shakes his head, says, “No, it feels good.”

Erik smiles, comes back over to him, kisses him again, on the outer arch of his cheekbone, and this time Charles presses into it, eyes slipping closed, but doesn’t try to turn his mouth to meet Erik’s. “Bring a cushion from the couch and come to the kitchen with me.”

His submissive has to bend backwards over the couch to get the corner of one between his fingers, a lovely curve of his belly that shows the sleek lines of the muscles leading to his groin, the dip of his navel, the trail of darkening hair that leads down from it to his cock, still half-hard from the bed and the restraints. His thighs strain a little to keep his weight balanced, but he gets the cushion, straightening and bringing it with him behind his back as he follows Erik into the kitchen.

“Put it on the floor by my stool,” Erik says, “then kneel,” and leaves Charles to get on with it as he goes to the fridge to retrieve the orange juice, eggs and butter and milk, starts mixing up the latter three with some cinnamon for French toast. It doesn’t take long to make, and he pours the orange juice into a glass as he waits for the bread to toast, flipping it idly with the metal spatula as he sips at his own juice; a knife chops up some strawberries to go with it, and when it’s ready he scoops it out of the pan and douses it in syrup and slices of strawberry, brings the whole lot back to the kitchen island with him on one plate, with one fork. 

“Turn to face me,” he says to Charles, sitting down sideways to the island, and waits until his sub has shuffled around and tipped his face upward to meet Erik’s eyes before offering him the glass, pressing it gently against Charles’ lower lip until he opens for Erik to tilt the glass up and let the orange juice run into his mouth. He’s careful not to tip too fast, and waits as Charles swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing, before offering it again; his lips are gleaming wet with beaded juice, and he takes it without speaking, eyes fixed on Erik’s as he drinks.

“Hungry?” Erik asks, and spears a square of French toast on his fork along with a chunk of strawberry, offers that next, ignores the spike of arousal he feels as Charles stretches his head forward to close his lips around the proffered food, pulling it off the fork and sitting back to chew. Erik helps himself, sipping from the same glass and eating his own share of breakfast. The following one misses a little, and the corner of Charles’ mouth is smeared with syrup that he cleans up with the tip of his pink tongue before waiting for another mouthful.

Erik refills the orange juice twice more, and when they’re done he bends down and kisses Charles on the lips, licks at them until they open and tastes the syrup and strawberries in his mouth, but when Charles tries to reciprocate he pulls back, gets up to tidy away the mess from breakfast. “No.”

They have a perfectly serviceable dishwasher, but Erik runs the sink this time instead, lets it fill up with hot water and soap bubbles and washes everything by hand, plate and frying pan and cutlery, enjoying the feel of it on his skin, setting everything aside on the rack while Charles kneels on the cushion behind him, trying not to fidget. He can hear him shifting about, the metal links on the cuffs clinking against one another while Erik scrubs the remaining syrup from the plate, rinses out the glass.

“Go back to the living room. Take the cushion with you,” Erik says, and turns just enough to watch Charles try to work out how to pick the damn thing up off the floor - there’s a sense of problem-solving, of frustration, radiating from him, before he shuffles off the cushion and bends backwards, still kneeling, to pluck at the fabric, which slips out of his grip the first two times before he manages to catch a proper hold of it. The arch of his back is lovely - Erik thinks idly of going for the ankle cuffs, of fastening Charles’ wrists to his ankles in an inverted Y-bind and making him keep that stretch for a while, belly taut and chest heaving a little into it, nipples outthrust, but that’s not what he wants to do today. Not yet today, anyway.

He takes his time drying up, though usually he’d leave clean-up to Charles - Erik cooks, Charles cleans - and puts everything away in its right place, until the kitchen is spic-and-span again. He can feel Charles softly in the back of his head, keeping track of him, waiting for Erik to be done with what he’s doing and tell Charles what he’s supposed to do; he rubs his thoughts up against Charles’, a sensation Charles has told him before is like fur on bare skin - something Charles loves, the tactile slut that he is - and finally - _finally!_ Charles thinks, a little louder than Erik suspects he’d meant to - goes back out into the living room.

Charles is stood by the coffee table, cushion still clasped in his hand behind his back. Erik hadn’t told him what he wanted done with it, so he’s simply waited there for further instruction. “Good boy,” Erik says, and Charles smiles, flushes with pleasure. He’s still half-hard, cock twitching when he sees Erik looking. “Put the cushion back where you found it, then go into the bedroom - there’s a cloth bag on the right-hand side of the bed. Bring that back here and kneel on the floorpad by me.”

Dropping the cushion back onto the couch is, at least, rather easier than picking it up; Charles lets go and pads off to the bedroom as instructed. The movement of his ass as he goes - Erik is unashamed about watching him, muscle flexing under the soft skin, strong thighs and the lovely dip of his spine above, but, yes. Ass. He sits on the far end of the couch and pulls out the floorpad for Charles on its silent runners, clicking it into place so that when Charles comes back in - the front view is as nice as the back, his turgid cock bouncing against his thigh as he walks - Charles can sink to his knees on it, his hips perpendicular to the couch so he’s sat sideways on to Erik, tucking his feet up and out of the way.

“I’ll take that,” Erik says, bending to take the bag from Charles’ hands and then sitting up to pat his lap. “Up over my knees. Make sure you’re comfortable, you’re going to be here a little while.”

Charles thinks an inquiry at him - if he’s nonverbal, that’s good, it means he’s getting into his submissive headspace. Erik knocks it back gently, waits, and is rewarded when Charles kneels up and leans forward, his belly laying across Erik’s lap and his shoulders and head off over the other side, just tense enough to stay up without needing further support. 

He turns his head to watch Erik open the gathered top of the bag, and his breath hitches sharply when Erik pulls out the bottle of lube and the thick, bobbled buttplug he’d put in there last night, setting them down on the arm of the couch by his elbow, out of the way. “Erik…”

There’s a growing pressure against Erik’s leg where Charles’ cock is getting hard, and Erik’s far from unaffected himself, his own cock stiffening as Charles squirms against him. “Stay still for me,” he says, bringing one hand down on the back of Charles’ neck and squeezing just where Charles likes it best, where it makes the erection pressing against Erik’s calf jump and the rest of his submissive’s body go limp and pliant with pleasure. “Good,” and Erik reaches for the pump on the top of the bottle, squirts some out onto his fingers.

He keeps his hand on the back of Charles’ neck as he reaches back and between those firm, raised buttocks, and Charles shakes against him and lets out a low moan as Erik’s fingers draw down his crack to the tight little pucker between them and start rubbing firmly. It takes a minute before the muscle eases out of its clench and becomes more willing, and Erik draws wet circles around it until it loosens, then pushes his fingertip inside, wriggles it in where Charles is still so tight and warm.

Across his lap, Charles moans louder, his toes curling as Erik works his finger in deeper, breath coming in shallower pants, chest heaving against Erik’s legs and, further down, fully erect now, the head of his cock weeping and seeping through the fabric of Erik’s pants.

“If you come then I’ll stop and you won’t be allowed to get off for the next two days,” Erik says as he slips a second finger in beside the first, stretching Charles’ hole around the intrusion and scissoring him open, curling his fingers to stroke the smooth inner walls of Charles’ anus. Charles sobs out a “Yes, Erik,” and stays put, though his hips are twitching a little of their own accord, the head of his cock tapping against Erik’s leg helplessly.

He adds a third finger, and the stretch is harder this time, takes some work, as Charles pants and whines and moans, eyes clenched tight shut except for when they fly open, wet and blue, to look between Erik and the buttplug on the arm of the couch, thick and textured and waiting. 

When Erik withdraws his fingers those eyes open again, and Charles gasps for breath as Erik fills his palm with lube and rubs it all over the plug, getting every bump and lump of it slick and wet. “I’m going to put this in you now,” Erik says, showing it to Charles before taking it behind him, out of his sight. “Stay still for me,” and presses the narrow head of it to Charles’ loose and gleaming hole.

The plug slides in easy as anything when he pushes it forward, Charles’ body opening around it easily even as it flares wider and wider, until it’s stretching him out and out, and his submissive is moaning almost continuously by the time they reach the base of it and the thick notch before the stopper. There’s a slick popping noise as the fattest part of it goes in, Charles’ hole clenches down tight around the notch just as it’s supposed to, and then it’s stuck in there, the broad base cupping the divot between his buttocks and the body of it thick and held inside of him.

Erik reaches into the bag and pulls out a small pack of wet wipes, cleans off his fingers while Charles stays laid over his knees, panting and whining and trying not to thrust against Erik, arousal coming off him in waves. He wipes Charles’ ass after of any lube that spilled out of him when the plug went in, pressing down on the plug so that it rubs up along Charles’ inner walls and leaves him shaking and his hands clenched behind his back with the effort of not coming.

“Aren’t you good,” Erik murmurs, stroking his fingers over the base of the plug and the clean damp skin around it, going from where Charles can feel it to where he can’t but knows Erik is touching, strokes both cheeks of his ass, the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. Then he takes pity on him and brings his hands up to Charles’ shoulders, nudges him back up off Erik’s lap, so that he can sink back down onto the floorpad. Erik is so hard he has to adjust himself, and Charles’ cock is standing upright between his legs, neglected and weeping pre-come. “Oh, Charles, you are so good for me,” and he bends to kiss him full on the mouth, lets Charles reciprocate this time, cups his face in one hand and bites at Charles’ lower lip, swallows his moans and runs his tongue along Charles’, wet and forceful. 

“I need to work on some plans for the hotel, go fetch them,” he says once he’s pulled back, and Charles shudders and lets out a whimper, but he stands anyway, wobbling toward the office - and Erik’s blueprints and notes - on unsteady legs.

He isn’t expecting Charles to come back with them between his teeth.

“God, Charles,” Erik says before he can help himself, and he has to reach into his own lap to squeeze tight at the base of his cock to keep from coming, arousal thrumming through him from head to foot in a delicious shudder, only just refrains from stroking himself instead and coming in his pants. The wedge of papers is thick and folded over, and Charles has hold of the end of it, the rest of it hanging in an awkward weight from his mouth - it’s a wonder he hasn’t dropped them. Above the papers Charles’ eyes are hot, his face flushed, as he watches Erik touch himself, knowing he’s done that to Erik, the connection between them thrumming with shared lust. Once he has himself under control - restraint, discipline, Erik does _not_ need to get himself a cock ring to manage this - he reaches out to grasp the dangling end of the folded papers, relieving Charles’ clenched teeth. “Give that here.”

Charles hesitates for a moment, then steps around Erik’s legs to sink down on the floorpad again, settles himself and leans in against Erik’s legs, relaxes his weight against him and rests his head on Erik’s knee. His leg is bent in such a way that his heel is pressing very gently against the base of the plug, and Erik says nothing when Charles flexes his foot and pushes it in a little, lets out a shaky breath, eyes slipping shut with helpless pleasure. He knows the consequences of coming, so let him tease himself - it’ll only work him up more for what comes after.

Erik unfolds the plans slowly, and settles down to review them, calling his pen set in their metal case to him from the office. It’s hard at first to concentrate around his erection, but he manages, splits the plans and notes out into piles along the length of the couch and starts to read, making notations as needed in the margins. 

It’s quiet in the apartment then, only the sound of turning pages and far-off traffic coming in from outside, the scratch of Erik’s pen on the paper and Charles’ slowing breaths, just a low murmur every so often when he moves his foot to press the plug against his ass, as though making sure it stays in. He’s not sleeping, just quiet and submissive at Erik’s feet, falling into his headspace and content to stay there, his calm spilling out over the both of them, an undercurrent of lust and pleasure lying beneath it, an increasingly dissociated awareness of his cock between his legs, no longer fully erect but not soft, either. He doesn’t struggle against the cuffs holding his hands behind his back, all thought far away.

It’s peaceful, and Erik lets his free hand slip down to caress the curve of Charles’ head, stroking through his hair and down his cheek, brushing his fingertips back and forth, tracing the line of his cheekbone, his lips. After a while Charles turns his head enough to mouth gently at Erik’s fingers, his lips dry and a little chapped, taking in one and then the other, pulling at the pads of Erik’s fingertips and dragging the wet inner surface of his lips across them. Erik reads on, working his way through the plans for a power-friendly gym, and Charles just suckles on Erik’s fingers as though he has all the time in the world, no other motive than simply wanting to.

Charles in subspace is a tactile, sensual creature, for the most part. He runs his tongue along the line of Erik’s fingernail and releases it to move on to the next finger, traces the faint pattern of his skin, nips very very gently at him, using his teeth to pull Erik’s fingers further into his mouth.

Erik’s thumb rubs along Charles’ cheek against the grain of his stubble, outside of his mouth, soothing, and Erik turns the page. He curls his fingers to stroke the slick muscle of Charles’ tongue, makes a note about reinforcing the gym’s walls to withstand high-energy blasts - perhaps they should mimic a bomb shelter construction, that should absorb the worst of it if any truly powerful guests decide to let rip…

The phone rings just as Charles has taken to sucking steadily at Erik’s fingers, long draws that are making him think all too much about having Charles relieve Erik’s own arousal with that mouth, giving him something bigger to suck on. The handset is wireless, so Erik reaches out for it and draws it over to the couch by its components, floats it up to his ear so he doesn’t have to drop his pen or pull his hand away from Charles, and presses ‘call’. “Hello, Lehnsherr-Xavier residence.” Charles doesn’t even twitch at his own surname.

“Erik, it’s Emma. Just thought I’d call to make sure you’re still coming to the charity do next week and not weaselling out on me again.”

He smiles, pulls back his fingers so Charles has to stretch for them a little, lets him have just the tips back to lick at, flicking his tongue between them before mouthing at them again drowsily. “Hi, Emma, how are you. Oh, thank you Erik, I’m well, just thought I’d call to see how you are, how Charles is, catch up like a normal sibling.”

“I have to ambush you, it’s part of the game,” Emma says, but she sounds amused. “Hi, Erik, how are you, are you going to welch on our deal like you did the last five times and somehow have a work emergency that your boss backs you up on so I can’t justify stringing you up and hanging you from my window? Sugar.”

“Would I do such a thing?”

“Gleefully.”

Erik snorts, curls his fingers again to tug gently on the inside of Charles’ lower lip, rubbing the plush outside of it with his thumb to make his submissive moan quietly, thinks about kissing him there, dropping the phone and bending down to take a kiss from Charles. “Fine. I’ll come this time - emergencies pending. But you’ll owe me one. I’m not your employee.”

“No, but you are my little brother, and that lasts longer and is more legally binding.” 

They talk for a while, Erik leaning back in his seat and pulling his fingers loose finally to go back to stroking Charles’ hair, pulling on it gently and scratching at Charles’ scalp the way he likes best, cupping his head so that his temple rests against Erik’s knee. By the time he’s done talking to Emma it’s well past noon, and he hangs up to the sound of his stomach rumbling, closely followed by Charles’.

“We’ll have lunch in a minute,” he says, when Charles tips his head back to look at Erik with half-lidded eyes. “Lie back for me,” and Charles does as he’s asked, leans back slowly until he’s draped across the floorpad, hips raised on the cushioned pad and shoulders and back on the floor, arms pinned beneath him.

Erik gets up from the couch only to kneel over Charles’ prone body, strokes his hands down that bare belly and presses down on Charles’ thighs, holding them still. “Stay still for me. Don’t come,” and bends his head to lick a stripe along Charles’ half-hard cock where it lays between his spread legs. It swells under the touch almost immediately, and Charles moans aloud, hips jerking as Erik does it again, angles his head and goes for the underside when Charles’ cock has raised far enough, traces the long throbbing vein and holds his submissive down while he runs the tip of his tongue under the red and throbbing head of his erection.

Charles shakes and begs when Erik wraps his mouth around him and starts to suck the way Charles had sucked on his fingers, slow and steady, moving further down and further down each time; by the time his nose is brushing Charles’ stomach the cock in his mouth is rigid and jerking with every suck, leaking pre-come from the slit at the top, thick and salty. Erik licks it away, keeps sucking, pins Charles’ hips to the floorpad and hums.

Under him his submissive _screams_ and gasps for air, and Erik waits until Charles is just about to come before pulling off with a wet sound, white smears across his lower lip. “Don’t come,” he says again, and Charles tries so hard for him, so hard, a trickle of wet leaking from the head of his cock - but he doesn’t quite tip over the edge.

Erik smiles and pets his heaving body, runs his hands over Charles’ flushed chest and belly, down his straining arms and thighs, but avoids tormenting him further just yet and doesn’t touch his groin. “You can stay here while I get us something to eat,” he says, not unkindly, and leaves Charles to calm down while he heads back off to the kitchen.

In the afternoon they watch another movie, and Erik strokes Charles’ chest throughout, playing with his tight, erect little nipples where they’ve drawn up in arousal, running his hands over the skin until Charles is almost too sensitive to bear the touch. Then he slides his hand down lower and starts jacking him slowly, the loose skin over Charles’ cock tautening as he hardens again, swelling in Erik’s grip until Charles is sobbing and thrusting his cock through the ring of Erik’s fingers, back and forth, head tipping back against Erik’s shoulder as he gasps for air. 

“Don’t come,” Erik says, and keeps teasing, makes his grip light and definitely not enough for Charles to do more than taunt himself with the idea of friction, turning his face into the angle of Erik’s jaw and sighing as he gives up on coming, hips jerking gently of their own accord but just letting Erik hold his erection for him, pet it a little, stroking his fingers up and down the soft stretch of it.

“I like this movie,” Charles says eventually, kissing the nearest patch of skin, right over Erik’s pulse.

“I know,” Erik says, and keeps stroking, swipes away the bead of pre-come on the tip of Charles’ cock and rubs it between his fingers until it starts to get tacky, wipes it off on his own hip for want of a better place. When he reaches back between Charles’ legs for the base of the buttplug inside of him Charles just sighs and starts rocking back and forth again as Erik tugs on it, pulls it loose enough to push back in, fucking him with it and making sure it presses against Charles’ prostate. His submissive’s hands are pressed tight between them, and his fingers curl against Erik’s belly, exploring the lines of his hard-won muscle as he fucks him with the toy, squeezing his free hand around the base of Charles’ cock to stop him from coming.

When Erik finally gets up, Charles is limp and pliant in his arms, and though he’s heavy Erik carries him to bed anyway, lays him down on his side on top of the covers and lies down behind him to keep playing with the plug. It makes a delicious wet sound as he pulls on it, thrusting it in and out of Charles’ loose hole where it’s been keeping him open and half-hard for Erik all day. 

Charles shudders and moans, turning his face into the bed, and shifts his leg forward to give Erik more room to move. They stay that way for a while, Charles’ cock hard and dripping between his legs, but he doesn’t come.

“You’ve been so good for me today,” Erik says eventually, stroking down Charles’ front to take his cock in hand, rubbing pre-come over it to make it good and wet. “I’m so pleased with you.” And Charles just - radiates pleasure, practically purring with it when Erik pulls the plug entirely out and eases his own cock into Charles’ slick and open hole, starts fucking him slowly from behind, spooned around him with one leg thrown over Charles’ hip for leverage. Despite the plug he’s tight inside, his hot channel squeezing down around Erik as he thrusts in and out, burying himself to the balls in Charles’ plush ass.

It doesn’t take long for Charles to start pleading with him, keening Erik’s name and panting again, pushing back against him until they find a rhythm between them and they’re fucking each other, then, dripping with sweat as Erik works his cock into his submissive and pulls out again, strokes Charles’ tormented erection and says, “Come now.”

Charles does, clenching down tight around Erik and spurting come all over the bed, gasping breathlessly and flung far away somewhere Erik can’t reach him for the moment; he’s too busy fucking into Charles’ limp body, reaching his own climax with a grunt and a curse as he fills his submissive with come, thrusting until he’s too sensitive to keep going and has to stop, still inside him but no longer moving.

They build warmth between them while they recover, their bodies still too close together and not close enough, and once he regains control of his limbs Erik gathers Charles back against his chest, pulls him in tight so he can keep touching him, no longer a torment now he’s allowed Charles to come. “How are you doing?” he asks, murmurs it into Charles’ ear, buries his nose in the hollow behind it, eyes closed.

“I love you,” Charles says, lax and relaxed, sighs happily. “Verdigris.”

“Good,” Erik says, and holds him for a while longer.

 


End file.
